Lucky Number 7

It's about time I fill you in.

       7. That's how many "men" I supposedly met that night we went out to Club Rebel. Honestly, I give my number out to anyone who asks for it. "Seven?!" My cousin practically yelled in my ear, "Why so many?" "Because I could," I responded like the smart-ass I was raised but followed up with, "Seven guys means seven dates." At least it does to me. If I work it right, I can do a date a week. That's almost two months worth of entertainment. Some guys will want to see you immediately. Others will take a while to smooth talk into taking you out --but overall, you just get to meet people.  Why seven? Because I know that I don't like most men I meet. And some are tougher to coax into a decent date. Seven gave me a better chance than 3. & Lots better than one. The thing is,most men aren't deserving of your time. Thy think they're so suave. That they've said the right things. But they have no idea what they're up against. When you don't want a man, you don't want him. & it's been a tough battle finding what I desire. 

        Whore. You might want to call me that. But, in reality, it's just your own subconscious talking. Or perhaps your own inability to enjoy someone with becoming physically involved with them. I pity you. The way I work the situation is by offering nothing more and nothing less than the full truth.  I'm not looking for anything. We can be friends.  I'm busy. With those three phrases I've covered all bases. Here's what I've really said: I'm not interested in moving forward with anyone --especially not you --and even if I did, I don't have the time for it.  

    I don't go out on weekdays, I add when they ask when I'm free. This is my only (partial) lie. I like to keep men confined to the weekends. I don't lose sleep on men I don't know and if I am going to be a little late to work, it isn't going to be off of some random nigga taking my sleep time. If I've given you a weekday, you should understand the value of my time must be matched by the value of you. Now, you might think me cold. Unemotional. A bitch, even. Oh well. The thing is, allI want is a little entertainment. I don't want someone I have to tend to. I don't have the time for it. I also don't want him to feel like he'll be swimming in it anytime soon --if at all. 

        I don't do "Blockbuster" nights. I might be the reason Blockbuster went out of business. There are way too many men who want to lay up with you the first chance they get. You'll know how "into" you they are when you push for something other than a make-out session. The truth is, most men stop calling me because I just want to be taken out. But I've realized that... I simply don't want them all in my shit.  Men think that they can get you alone in a room and smooth their way into a kiss on the neck and move towards whatever else and, don't get me wrong, some can --but only if I want you too. You must be out of your mind to think that I want you all to do this. If I'm physically attracted to a guy -and want to take it to another level, there is no questioning how I feel. He'll know it. If you and I sit and have a conversation about how I don't have sex --a conversation I am well versed in, there is no chance, hunny. Some of these men just want company. Or they're too dumb to understand that they've lost the battle before it's begun. So when I'm asked what I like to do, I also give the real answers: I like to lay in my bed and tweet. Alone. I listen to music. Alone. I read. Alone. I let them know that I'm not looking for company, I'm looking for entertainment. My bedroom is not a venue. 

         I enjoy male company more than that of females. I like to be escorted. To be treated. I like to feel like I'm with a "protector". I can't get that when I'm out with females. That's when I  feel like the protector. That's why I date so much. I like male company -- but these guys won't play the fool for too long. Eventually, they get tired of taking me out with nothing in return. That's when I go back out and stack up on my next 7 dates. And to be honest, I love attention. When you're out with a guy, he pays attention to you. If he took the time to take you out, he actually likes you --at least a little. So when you go out with him, it's all smiles and compliments. You feel special. You feel wanted. Who doesn't want that? 

     Honestly, I don't think I'm a bad person. Actually, I think I'm a great person which is why I understand why these guys elect to take me out and continue to call once I've grown bored. There isn't a two-way connection. We aren't meant to be. You meet these guys and you know, from the jump, that it won't work out. That he's not exactly your type. His flaws are all too visible. But a girl gets lonely. And these boys help ease the pain. For an hour or so, you forget that your heart is somewhere else. Meanwhile, you get to eat some good food. & I prefer candlelight. So I apologize, but until the day my Prince Charming comes back to me, I'm going to take these boys for what they're willing to give. No more. No less. But I promise you, I let them all know in advance. 

      What's more bizarre is how 7 men can't add up to one. If you ain't the one, you just ain't the one. So I date them all, just to make sure. One date is all it takes. Actually... one exchange. One conversation. One glance. And they know it, too. There's no way they think I'm the woman they'll end up with. And if they do, it's because I, ultimately, wouldn't be a bad choice. But when that person is the one there is no doubt. It just is. 

      And so I've taken on a new route. I date. It's what I do. Because... people are awesome. You can have an amazing time with someone if you simply participate.  It's great conversation. And you get to pick out a killer outfit.  And honestly.... it's practice. Dating guys puts you into uncomfortable situations. You meet their friends when you don't want to. Parents in the most awkward places. You simply know how to be. You can actually talk to them. You can figure out what  men typically like and what they don't. Honestly, dating grooms you into the significant other you should be. Technically, I'm single. But I'm learning how no to be without my mishaps affecting the relationship I really want. 

This guy told be recently that I'm too vague... I'm working on that. But if you're trying to figure out what's really going on in my head..just stay tuned. I'm in a very FML situation and trying to clear my mind in the most appropriate order.

*sigh* 

More coming soon. 

The Freakin Weekend Part 3: Sufficient in Solitude.

He got me out my momma crib.  Then he helped me get my momma a crib. 

- Kanye West, "Big Brother."

     I can go a while without getting lonely. But eventually it kicks in again. To be honest, there was a point when I tried to fill the voids in my heart -- rather ignore because my methods for fulfillment didn't work and masked the issue instead. I would be more inclined to call men for comfort than to call people who really loved me... and I know this is going to sound super corny, but when I get lonely now, I call my mother. 

     I hated my mother for a really long time. Some people hate to hear me say that. And while I'd love to lie and say I always loved her, I'd be lying. It's far too much to explain here, but I had my reasons. Mostly because I didn't quite see my mother as my mother until I was good and off to college. The periods when I hated my mother were the points when I almost succeed at destroying myself. I willingly gave myself to men who didn't deserve me. I found myself losing myself. After having lost so much more than myself, I see the true value of things now.

    I loved my friends more than I loved my family. That's because I had my friends when I didn't have my family. But luckily I had my family there as guardrails to make sure I didn't fall into the gutter. And that's how I've made it this far. I know that's a vague synopsis, but I can truly only say so much. What I will say though is that there are times when I sit alone and thank my brother for how far I've gotten. Sometimes, I even consider kneeling on the cheetah print rug beside my bed and praying to gods I don't believe in. All of them. In case one exists and not the other. I'm not ready to put all my chips in one basket just yet. 

  This Sunday, I sat in my room alone and for the first time in a while, I noticed that I was alone. I mean, Sundays are the loneliest days of the week when you're single. My roommate was in his part of the apartment cheffing up vegetables for a girl who has been there almost 4 days now (I say has cuz she was there when I woke up Sunday and was there when left this morning & it's Wednesday.) I typically try to stay away from couples... as if I might catch something. I mean, there's nothing worse than being around love when you aren't in it. It's both nauseating and envy inviting. I want part of neither feeling. As I sat in bed (comfortable as hell) I looked around and realized I had no one. No one to come lay with me. No one to hold me. No one to tell me they love me, and that's what I miss the most. I think that's what trips women up the most. You just want to be loved even if it's a lie. You feel like you have something when someone is saying that to you. Like you finally mean something. 

    I keep a picture of my brother on my nightstand. The one above. It's a terrible picture, isn't it? And really he's only half-way in it. I'm the focal point. I had to have been maybe two years old and it was the time frame when my mom had cut all my hair off because I wouldn't let anyone comb it. (Later on in life, when I would cry while getting my hair done, my mom would call my brother into the room, "ENVER!" and I would sit and sniffle the boogers into my mouth while I held back tears. Meanwhile  my mom yanked and Enver towered over me with his arms crossed.) But no matter how much of a homeless little boy I look like in that photo, I can't get passed the smile on my brother's face. & the fact that the picture was taken in the back seat of the red '88 Cavalier we had. I don't ever remember him being in the back seat with me although I remember countless times getting kicked out the front. There's a little sister thing about my big brother being in the back seat with me that reassures me that the didn't hate me. He might have even liked me.  So that's why I'm positing it here. Because it means too much to me to care about what I look like. Besides, when you Google pictures of siblings, it's two white kids or two black kids and my fmaily is a healthy mix of skin tones. We like versatility. & PLEASEE tell me this pic isn't sooooooo 80s its fuckin beyond awesome. Y'all know I love the 80s. All two years I lived it lol ;)

     If you haven't noticed yet, I couldn't love me mother because I had willingly given all my love to my brother. After  my brother passed, my mother asked me, "Did you love Enver more than you loved me?" Very plainly I answered her, "Yes, I did." Now you might think that was harsh, but I don't think it hurt her at all. I think she knew the whole time. Truth be told, I think we all loved my brother more than we loved each other. He was the man in our lives. (Except for my sister, I guess --but I don't doubt she feels the same to some degree.)

      He reminds me of what's important. He's the only person who could ever keep me grounded. If it wasn't for him, I'd have been running around like the rest of them out there.  I remember that some random man can never fulfill me. That having a man in my bed means nothing for me and even worse for him. I keep the picture there to make sure I make a conscious decision if and when a man ever sees my bed. I remember how good I have it. Fully employed and inevitably moving forward. I remember that one day, I'm gon' by my momma a house, even if I don't have one for myself yet. I remembered that I deserved everything I was sitting around staring at. Even the bright city lights shining outside my window.
    
      He's the reason for me. The reason why, even though I have a post called One Night Stands, it's not what you think. The reason why in Birds of a Feather, I claimed my place as eagle and soared alone. It's hard to be alone. To see people posting up pictures of themselves and significant others all happy in love. I want to be bitter. I want to play the "she aint even all that" game, but I can't bring myself. The key to being alone and being ahppy is to find love elsewhere. Look for love in the places they will never falter. In people you never have to question. Those who truly never have to say it. Like I said, I call my mother. Call me what you want. I'm my mommy's little girl & damned proud of it. 

      It's not that I don't need no man, it's that I don't need no man, right now. I'm not going to lie and say I wouldn't like the company. That I don't want to date. That I don't want to get married had have children one day. It's just that... that day ain't today. So even while I'm excited about future possibilities, It don't mean nothing to me. I already have a man in my life: My big brother.

And now... as I get ready to leave work, I can't wait to go home to my empty bed & my book of Homeric poems :) Cuz I'm the one payin rent in that muthafucka!!!!  whoop whooooopp!! lol

Growing Up; Moving Out.

  Can't spend another second sittin on my momma's couch.So if I don't take a chance I won't ever get out. Some people talk but never do, they just running they mouths. But I mean just what I say. & I'ma show them out. - Jazmine Sullivan, "Dream Big" 

     

    Looking for housing in New York City is a bitch. Most of the living spaces are old buildings with added walls to divide space as much as humanly possible. Basically, in New York, bedrooms are like... really big closets. I viewed this one apartment over on Edgecombe in Harlem where the room was so small, the friend I had brought along couldn't help but to make jokes like... "Your room is so small, you got to go outside to change your mind." Yup, it was that small. The room would have been able to fit a twin bed. A full would have made the room tight. "You can get a twin bed," my friend Tony had said. "Tony, I'm a grown ass woman," I responded back. "I don't need a twin bed ever again in my life."

      I'm the youngest of three. My brother is 11 years my senior and my sister has me by 9. For as long as I can remember, I've had three parents. When my sister married (and even before then), I  inherited her husband as another parent. They all listened to the plans I had. As I switched from "really like this place" to "maybe this place" but they allowed... rather forced... me to do it on my own. My sister visited my first place with me. I listened to the questions she asked. I looked at the things she looked at. I took mental notes. While I wish she would have just told me where to move into and how much to pay, I knew she wouldn't. She only does so much for me and at the end told me to do what I think I can afford, although he never quite helped me with a number. My mom on the other hand is no help. Her advice is usually, "Lo que tu crea, mija. Preguntale a tu hermana." That means "Whatever you think is best. Ask your sister." Great advice I've got here, huh? My brother-in-law on the other hand has always given me the best advice: none. He just tells me what he did. I'm great at following by example. I asked him how he did it. What his first place was like. Knowing someone else story.. someone who thinks like you, is sometimes the best blueprint you can ever get.

     Sometimes in order to mature, you need to be thrown into situations that force you to respond. While I was looking for places, people would commonly ask, "Why do you want to move out of your sister's house and pay rent?" That's equivilant to asking me, Why do you want to grow up? Why do you want freedom and independence? Why on earth would you want to gain maturity and life experience?   College ruined me. Well, I mean it made me a better person, but it ruined my taking the easy way out. For a great part of my college career, I lived alone. I made my own rules. I'd come and go as I pleased. I bought my own groceries. I did my own laundry. For four years, I forgot what it was like to have my mother make me dinner. To have food waiting when I came home. While I love my sister and her husband dearly, I've got to leave the nest. 

        My new place isn't the ultimate ideal. I have a roommate... and not the ideal situation. Thing is, he's a... he. So he tries to help me out a lot. He offered to help me moved my things in this weekend, but I politley decline his offer as I did anyone else. I could've asked my cousins to help me move. or I could have paid the Mexicans at the UHaul place (I'm not being racist... that's what they were & that's what they're there for) but I would much rather handle my business on my own. A cute boy working there kept walking back and forth through the storage area (with nothing to do) and striking up conversation. "You don't have nobody to help you?" he asked. 

      "No, I'm all set," I responded.

      "It'd be easier if you had help."

      "Actually it wouldn't."

      "Oh so you independent, huh?"

      "I guess," I said as I grabbed my dolly and walked away to get another load. 

      Thing is  I planned it all to move by myself. I got up when it was convenient to me. I got my truck when it was convenient for me. I organized the truck in a method convenient for me. I took the amount of time fitting for me. I drove the route that felt the best for me. There was no one passenger seat driving my Uhaul nor any other part of my day for that matter. Sometimes, I think we convince ourselves (especially women) that we need someone else's help (particularly the help of men). But you really won't notice how well you do without them until you actually try. If you don't try to do things on your own, you never find out how much you're truly capable of. Granted there are something you need assistance with (like the 150 pound dresser my brother-in-law had to help me bring in) but the rest i could do myself. Granted, it might take a little longer, and my body might be sore for a while after, but at the end of the day, I was proud that I had done it all by myself. I wasn't nervous about what was being moved where. I didn't have to answer questions about what goes where or how long this will take.  I didn't once have to say "Watch out that will break"(and it always ends up broken, doesn't it?). 

        And it didn't matter that I had no idea where I was going. Or that I ended up driving 32 miles more than what I had expected. Or that I got scared that I was lost before I hit the George Washington Bridge because it was beautiful when I saw it as my official first time driving over it by myself as I yelled at Carl through my ear piece in sheer excitement. Here I was, driving to my shitty new apartment in Harlem but I was glad because I had made the voyage (both literally and figuratively) on my own. This accomplishment was mine. 

     Sometimes too, when you allow people to help you, they think you need them more than you do. One my first trip from the van to the room, my roommate open the door and tried to help pull some of my bins in. "No! Please! Don't," I begged of him. "Let me do it." I didn't want him to feel like he was this big strong man and I was think weak little girl. I didn't want him to get the impression that I need him for anything, because men have a tendency to do that. They think that they are protectors and really this is all just an animal instinct.  But the first time you allow yourself to be the weaker mate, you will always be. Granted if/when I find that special guy, I will allow him to be the leader in the relationship... because that's how I like my men. But all of my guy friends know very well that I assert myself as an equal in all circumstances. 

     There was a part of me that was frightened about embarking on this stage of my life. There's comfort in adolescence that is really hard to willingly give up. I put an enthusiastic veil over what was really timorous ambition. Blind determination, honestly. I just want to grow up. I don't know if I'm ready but I feel like I'll never find out if I don't take the steps to test myself. I don't want to be that girl who lives at home with her mom and can barely pay rent but is out here looking for a "quality man". I want to be the woman I'm supposed to be. 

This growing up shit is scary... but it has to be done.

      With that said, here's what I'm really thinking: My roommate claims he "likes to get the mail" so he hasn't given me a key. I didn't say anything then, but I WILL be asking for one. There's also a card you put money on to do laundry and he wants to share one. NOT happening.  Truthfully, I really just needed to give myself a pep-talk so that I don't punk out. I know you guys will hold me to it!  :-/